“I am glad.”
“They seemed surprised.”
“They should not have been.”
“No,” she agreed.
He adjusted his gloves.
“You have handled matters here admirably.”
“You have said so.”
“It bears repeating.”
“Does it?”
He paused at that, studying her more closely. She wondered if he could tell that she wanted more from him. She partly hoped that he could.
“If you require anything,” he said, “you need only ask.”
“I have everything I require.”
Her voice was steady. He searched her expression, perhaps for reproach, perhaps for something else. Whatever he sought, he did not name it.
“Very well,” he said.
The door closed behind him moments later. Margaret stood in the hall long after the sound of hooves faded.
It was not cruelty. That would have been easier to recognize.
In the kitchens, the staff laughed more freely than they had weeks before. Fires burned hotter. Repairs were made promptly. Tenants sent words of gratitude.
Ravensmere warmed. She did her part. Each morning she rose determined to do it better.
Each evening she returned to her chamber alone.
One night, unable to ignore the weight pressing against her ribs, she stopped Mrs. Hill in the corridor.
“May I ask you something?” Margaret said.
“Of course.”
“Has he always worked such hours?”
Mrs. Hill considered before answering.
“His Grace has always been diligent.”
“That was not my question.”
“No,” the housekeeper agreed quietly. “It was not.”
Margaret clasped her hands together. She had her answer. Even so, she wanted to know more.
“Is there some failing in me that makes his presence here so infrequent?”
Mrs. Hill’s expression sharpened.
